“How dare you say such disrespectful things about Lady Bertia?!” one of the ladies behind her shouted.
“Isn’t it you who have been troubling Lady Bertia and causing her pain?”
As the tension between Baroness Hironia, who persistently aimed to antagonize Bertia, and the young ladies defending Bertia were about to escalate, Bertia herself shouted, “STOP!!” Whether she felt left out of the spotlight or merely lonely, tears glistened in her eyes.
“Please listen to me! I hate being ignored!!” Bertia pleaded earnestly, causing the young ladies around her to falter and hurriedly apologize, promising to listen attentively.
The members of the Bertia Fan Club watched this with warm gazes, clearly touched by her appeal. Bertia, with hands on her hips and a fierce determination in her voice, then proclaimed, “Lady Hironia is my adversary! So, please, everyone else refrain from interfering! No bullying or anything like that!! I will handle this directly. No sneaking around like a third-rate villain—such actions are unacceptable! If there is to be a conflict, it must be fair and square!! That is what a top-tier villainess does!!”
Startled by Bertia’s declaration of confrontation, Baroness Hironia stuttered, “How terribly cruel—”
“Bravo, Lady Bertia!!” interrupted the young ladies, suddenly praising her.
Bertia looked around, puzzled by their reaction. “Eh?”
“Yes, indeed. Even if subjected to the most vile acts, resorting to sneaky retaliation is something only a third-rate woman would do!” they exclaimed.
“Um…”
“And for you to step forward and choose to face the conflict head-on, ensuring we don’t stoop to ugly feelings of anger or jealousy…” they continued, their admiration clear.
“No, that’s not it…” Bertia attempted to clarify, but her words were drowned out by the unexpected praise.
“And on top of that, you even defended Lady Hironia, ensuring she wasn’t attacked unilaterally by the majority, despite the terrible things she has done to you. How compassionate…” the accolades continued.
Bertia, who had only intended to play the role of a first-rate villainess, was visibly taken aback by the sudden rise in her popularity. Ultimately, the members of the Bertia Fan Club were so moved that they began to applaud, shifting the mood entirely in her favor.
Finding herself completely alienated as the atmosphere turned against her, Baroness Hironia’s face flushed with anger. “What in the world is this?!” she exclaimed as she stormed off.
The audience buzzed with excitement at her dramatic exit.
In a corner of the venue, unnoticed by all, stood Viscountess Eirin, exuding a dark aura. She observed the bewildered Bertia and the jubilant members of the Bertia Fan Club.
After watching both groups for a moment, she plastered on a forced smile and quietly slipped away.
“Courtgain, I have something to attend to outside,” I said, prompting a questioning look from him.
“Your Highness?”
“I’ll be back soon; just continue with the work… Come on, Zeno.”
With those words, I left the salon with haste. This was purely out of curiosity. It wasn’t for Bertia’s sake, but rather, I was intrigued by what that young lady, who had been glaring murderously at Bertia, might do next.
“I don’t need to justify myself to anyone,” I silently muttered to myself and followed the direction Viscountess Eirin had taken.
Of course, I asked Zeno to cast a spell to make us less noticeable as we ventured out.
✦ ✦ ✦
As Viscountess Eirin, disguised with a wig the same shade as Baroness Hironia’s hair, furiously carved up Bertia’s chair with a knife, I watched hidden in the shadows by the doorway. The chair, a custom-made luxury provided by the indulgent Marquis Noches who doted endlessly on his daughter, represented more than just seating; it was a testament to his love and the wealth of their house—a status symbol a viscountess’s family might find challenging to afford.
With her emotions running high, Viscountess Eirin’s actions spoke of a tempest within, driven by a jealousy and fervor that seemed to blur the lines between reason and restraint. It was a common trait among the passionate and the proud, sometimes mirrored in Bertia’s own dramatic displays—though hers were never malicious.
“Your Highness, shouldn’t we stop her?” Zeno asked, his voice laced with concern as he stood by my side outside the classroom.
“Stop her…” I murmured, contemplating the simplicity of such an intervention.
Watching as Viscountess Eirin mutilated the chair, Bertia’s rejection of my offered help flashed through my mind, alongside her sometimes weary, troubled expressions hidden behind a veneer of cheerfulness. These memories pricked at a tender spot within me, like a needle softly piercing skin, sparking a faint ache.
Yet…
“She won’t ask for help,” I whispered, the words chilling me more than I expected and sapping my will to act.
Caught in the throes of these conflicting emotions, the nature of which I couldn’t quite identify, I was pondering my next move when I sensed Viscountess Eirin finishing her cathartic destruction and heading toward the exit. Concurrently, the distant sounds of students returning from lunch reached my ears, signaling the end of the break.
The sound of a door latch announced Viscountess Eirin’s departure from the classroom, and I discreetly moved to a more concealed position. Immediately after, the rapid patter of her running feet filled the air. She passed by me, head bowed to hide her face with her hair, unaware of my close proximity.
“If you go too far, you might end up getting hurt,” I murmured almost reflexively to her retreating figure, not truly intending to threaten her but rather to caution.
She gasped, halting momentarily as if about to turn back, but then pressed on, probably to maintain her disguise as Baroness Hironia, which would be compromised if she faced me.
Perhaps it was a misstep on her part not to check who had witnessed her actions, but then again, remaining anonymous might have been her priority.
“Acting through others isn’t quite satisfying, is it?” I muttered to myself with a wry smile as she disappeared from sight. “Zeno, please take care of that,” I instructed, nodding at Bertia’s broken chair. With Zeno’s magical abilities, he could likely repair it discreetly, so long as no one was watching.
“As you wish,” Zeno responded.
As I walked away, I thought I heard Zeno mutter, “Really, our prince isn’t very honest, is he?” I didn’t quite catch the full meaning of his words.